No Future
by h3ymrsunshine
Summary: "When there's no future, how can there be sin?" Katniss Everdeen is making her debut as a mentor for the 74th Hunger Games. OOC.
1. Chapter 1

As I reach behind me to pull an arrow from my quiver I can feel a bead of sweat slowly making its way down the back of my neck. The air is humid and the late-afternoon sun unrelenting, tiny pinpricks of light beating down on me as they make their way through the branches overhead. A deer is drinking water at the small creek that runs through this part of the forest. Watching it quench its thirst brings attention to how dry my own mouth feels. My lips are cracked from the heat and running my tongue over them does nothing to help. I nock my arrow, I can drink some water after I kill the deer. Just as I am about to release the arrow I blink and the deer is gone. In its place I see a fair-skinned boy staring back at me, fear in his bright blue eyes and an arrow already lodged in his chest. I let out a short gasp and drop my bow, the arrow falling limply to the ground beside it.

I curl up on the forest floor next to my discarded bow. My arms are wrapped tightly around my legs as I rock back and forth, face buried in my knees. The deer I was supposed to shoot is long gone. The image of Raith, the fourteen-year old boy from District Five, is seared into the back of my eyelids. Of all the tributes from the arena, all the kids I killed, his is the face that haunts me the most. His short, curly hair was the exact same shade of blonde as Prim's and even his eyes were an eerily similar blue. As with every other time I have a nightmare or flashback it only takes me a few minutes before I begin to pull myself out of it by focusing on another, stronger emotion. I lift myself up off the forest floor as I tap into the white hot rage that is always simmering just below the surface. I let it wash over me and drown out everything else. The panic that incapacitated me just moments ago melts away in its path. I make my way over to the creek to fill my water bottle before heading back towards Victors' Village.

I decide to pay Haymitch a visit before I head home. Walking in the cool night air has calmed me down a little but I know I will feel even better after some human interaction. The last time I went home this angry I broke my bedroom door. Not that it mattered much, being the only one in the house means I have all the privacy I need. Haymitch answers almost immediately after I knock and looks me over as I stand in his doorway.

"You smell like you could use a shower," he scrunches his nose in an exaggerated show of disgust.

"I'm surprised you can smell me over the stench of alcohol," I counter.

He grins at my retort and steps out of the doorway to let me into his house. I forced Haymitch to cut down on his drinking while he was mentoring me and he has managed to keep his habit mostly under control since then. There are still a few empty glass bottles scattered around his house but he goes through them much slower these days. I follow him into the kitchen where he pulls a full bottle out of the cupboard before taking a seat at the table.

"Are you ready for your big debut as a mentor?" He gulps down some liquor before sliding the bottle across the table towards me.

"I do have you as a teacher," I take a swig and wince as it burns its way down my throat, "so probably not."

Haymitch lets out a small chuckle, though I am not sure if it is because of my words or the face I am making. Every once in a while I take Haymitch up on the offer of a drink and end up immediately regretting my decision. I have no idea how his insides are still intact after ingesting so much of this vile liquid in his lifetime. I push the bottle back towards him, shaking my head to indicate that I will not be partaking in any more.

"Suit yourself, sweetheart." He takes another long gulp before screwing the cap back onto the bottle. "I did mentor the latest victor so I'd say I'm not too shabby."

One month ago I asked Haymitch to start teaching me everything he knew about being a mentor. At first he found my request odd considering that I have done nothing to hide the fact that I abhor everything about the Hunger Games. Most people in District Twelve do, but for me it is personal and the wounds are fresh. Still, I know there will be a scared tribute counting on me to mentor them and I take that responsibility seriously. There is nothing I can do about the Hunger Games right now and as much as I hate having to continue to take part in the atrocity I cannot neglect my duty to the District Twelve tributes. Once I explained Haymitch understood where I was coming from and he has been a surprisingly good teacher, though I would never tell him that.

"The latest victor was a disaster. She doesn't even have a talent."

Haymitch grunts but doesn't respond. The mood has suddenly turned serious. I curse myself for bringing up the talent. Every victor is supposed to have one but neither of us ever bothered. We have nothing left to lose by disobeying, Snow has already exhausted all his ammunition for both of us. At this point we can get away with pretty much anything short of inciting a rebellion with little consequence. Mentioning the lack of a talent, even as a joke, is just another reminder of everything we lost to get here. Of course Haymitch lost it all a long time ago but watching me go through it after my Games dredged up a lot of painful memories for him. I decide to change the subject.

"Did you lose your razor? Effie is going to have a heart attack when she sees that shitty excuse for a beard."

"I was just trying it out," he runs his fingers through the uneven tufts of hair sprouting from his chin. "Anyway I don't give a rat's ass what Effie Trinkett thinks. Though she is going to have a heart attack when she smells you."

"Unlike you, I bathe regularly. And whether or not you care what Effie thinks, you should make an effort 'Mitch." He snorts at the nickname I've given him but doesn't say anything. "Not for Effie, for the tributes. It might make the reaping slightly less terrifying if their mentors look halfway serious."

"I'll shower and shave," he concedes. "Maybe even throw on some clean clothes."

I smirk, "Wow Effie really might have a heart attack when she sees you."

We chat for a little longer before I decide to head home. Haymitch walks me to the door and watches me walk towards my house. After I won the Hunger Games my family was moved in to the house directly across from Haymitch. When I got back to District Twelve after the Victory Tour they moved me in diagonally across the street from him, right next door to the destroyed house. I am certain that Snow has purposefully prevented anyone from clearing out the lot just so I have to walk past the charred remains of that house every day. A reminder of what my actions cost me.

* * *

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," Mayor Undersee drawls.

For the first time in twenty-four years a new name is added to the list of past District Twelve victors he reads out, bringing the grand total to three. Effie Trinkett, who is sitting to my left wearing a bright green suit and a pale pink wig, stands as Mayor Undersee introduces her. She arrived on my doorstep before the reaping looking equal parts shocked and impressed when I let her in and she saw Haymitch sitting on a couch in my living room. His hair had been cut, his face clean-shaven, and the shirt he was wearing was brand new. Mayor Undersee, who now takes a seat next to Haymitch as Effie steps forward, was also shocked to see Haymitch arrive on time, well-dressed, and relatively sober.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" She delivers her signature line while reaching her hand into the glass ball full of girls' names, swirling it around to mix the slips of paper up a little before grabbing one and pulling it out. "Tally Cable."

I don't recognize the name and I look out over the sea of children all separated by ages to see who walks onto stage. There is movement up front, where the youngest eligible children are standing, and a tiny dark-haired girl who must only be twelve years old breaks away from the group to walk towards the stage. Once she starts climbing the steps and I get a clear look at her I realize I know her, or at least I recognize her. I never knew her name but her mother used to bring her over to our house often - she was a very sickly child. From the looks of it she still is, she has a frailty about her beyond the usual starving demeanor of kids from the Seam. I can sense the anger of the crowd even from the stage.

"Are there any volunteers?" Effie asks after Tally has taken her place on the stage.

I don't hold my breath, there hasn't been a volunteer in District Twelve for decades so Effie's question is merely formality at this point. The crowd is silent as expected and Effie gives a short nod before walking towards the glass balls to pick a male tribute. Before she reaches her hand in she is interrupted.

"I volunteer," it is a strong female voice that comes from the back of the sea of children, the seventeens, and I wonder if maybe Tally has an older sister I did not know about

The girl steps out from her group to walk towards the stage and I realize there is no way she is related to Tally. Unlike the twelve year-old girl, she has fair skin and looks a bit healthier than a Seam kid. I assume she is merchant, which would also explain why I don't recognize her, but what is unusual is that she does not have the trademark blonde hair of the merchant class. Instead her hair is a medium brown color, a shade that I have never seen in District Twelve.

"Johanna Mason," she introduces herself when she reaches the stage, gently nudging Tally towards the steps.

"Cutting it quite close, aren't we Johanna?" Effie chirps as she watches Tally run off the stage and towards her mother. "No matter. How exciting to have a volunteer, bravo! Let's give her a round of applause everybody."

Generally people do not applaud at reapings but I suppose Effie thinks someone volunteering is a special enough occasion to warrant it. I look out over the crowd and am pleased to see that not one person comes close to clapping. Instead I see a couple people giving Johanna the old District Twelve salute, touching three fingers of their left hand to their lips and then holding them out to her. It spreads quickly and before long everyone in the crowd seems to be saluting her. She returns it before stepping back so that Effie can pick out the male tribute.

"Peeta Mellark."

* * *

"You sure you still want the girl?" Haymitch asks me as I sit down next to him at the dining room table. "The boy looked strong, he probably has a better chance."

Haymitch and I talked before the reaping and I told him I would mentor the female tribute. In previous years, including my own, Haymitch has had to be the mentor for both tributes since he was the only living victor in Twelve. It is just another way District Twelve tributes have been disadvantaged. Now that there are two of us we can each mentor one of the tributes, which is what all the other districts do. Haymitch told me that from what he has heard from other victors they all seem to have different ways of deciding which tribute each mentor will be assigned. Doing it based on gender just seemed like the simplest route.

"I'm sure."

Haymitch looks like he is about to respond but stops himself when Peeta walks into the room. I take note of his sturdy build and the way his blonde hair falls across his eyes. Not only does he seem strong, he is also good looking. Both are qualities that can be advantageous in the Hunger Games. Johanna walks in right after Peeta and I look carefully at my new mentee. She is about my height but she is not as thin as I am, and from what I can tell the difference is mostly muscle. It was hard to see in the clothes she wore to the reaping but the Capitol provided outfit she changed into is a little tighter and accentuates the muscles in her arms. She is also strong. And she is even better looking than Peeta. Both the tributes take a seat and Effie signals for the first course to be brought out. I observe both of them throughout dinner. They both eat a lot despite Effie's warnings - no matter how well off their families are by District Twelve standards, it is likely they have never had food this rich. I pay special attention to Johanna, who is sitting across from Haymitch. The way she attacks her food almost seems like she hasn't had a decent meal in a while. This doesn't make sense to me since you can tell by looking at her that she has grown up well-fed. Maybe I am misreading her actions but this girl is definitely a mystery. I am really curious about why she volunteered for that girl from the Seam but it doesn't seem appropriate to ask.

"So Johanna, how do you know Tally?"

Apparently Effie is just as curious as me and not as concerned with Johanna's privacy. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised about that. Effie is nice enough, I suppose, but she is a Capitol citizen. To them the Hunger Games are entertainment and everything about the tributes is part of the show. Johanna puts down her fork and swallows the bite of cake she had in her mouth before replying.

"I don't."

"Let's finish up and go watch the other reapings," I jump in before Effie can ask her to explain. Johanna's tone made it clear she did not care for the question and the girl has enough on her mind without having to deal with Effie's insensitivity. "Get an idea of what you two up against."

I push my seat away from the table and lead the way to the compartment where we can watch the recap of the day's events. It is weird to think that just a year ago I was in this very train as a tribute. We all take a seat in the compartment and watch the reapings from the other districts in silence. I size up the tributes as I watch the video, trying to decide which ones will be the biggest threats. Once the video is over Peeta speaks up.

"How exactly is this going to work? Do we each get one of you as a mentor?"

"Good question kid," Haymitch responds. "I will mentor you, Katniss will take Johanna."

"When do we start?" Johanna asks.

"Tomorrow," I tell her. "For now I recommend trying to get some sleep."

She gives a brisk nod and leaves. Peeta and Effie also head out of the compartment, leaving me alone with Haymitch.

"Johanna is a bit of a mystery," I comment.

"Do you know why I was late to the train?" Haymitch asks. He slipped onto the train after both the tributes were already on. I shake my head, unsure where he is going with this. "I stuck around the Justice Building, I was very curious about Johanna's family. Peeta had his parents and brothers come by, I already knew he was the baker's kid so no surprise there. But I stuck around until they were both led to the car and not one person came by to visit Johanna."

I mull this over in my head, it is hard to imagine that if Johanna had any living family members they would pass over the chance to say goodbye. The only explanation I can think of would be that she does not have any family. My mind drifts back to the way she ate at the dinner table, almost desperately.

"She's from the home," I voice my realization out loud.

"Bingo," Haymitch says softly. "I'd guess from looking at her she hasn't been there more than a couple weeks. If she had it would be more obvious. Judging by the way she ate though it's been at least a few days."

The pieces seem to fall together. She must have lost whatever family she had very recently and been sent to the community home. That place crushes the toughest kids from the Seam, I can't imagine what it would be like for a merchant kid who was used to a relatively comfortable life. But something still doesn't add up.

"She's seventeen. She may not be old enough to get a job in the mines but that doesn't matter if she's not Seam. She should have been able to take over her family business and support herself. How did she end up at the home?"

"I can't quite figure that part out either," Haymitch slouches back in his chair. "Never thought I'd find myself regretting that I didn't pay more attention to what was going on in town."

"Well none of this is important anymore," I get up from my chair as I say this. "I am going to bed. Night 'Mitch."

"See you in the morning, sweetheart."

* * *

**A/N: Reviews greatly appreciated. They help me figure out if people are actually liking what they read/interested in me writing more. **

**Also I need a beta for this so if you are interested please PM me.**

**To clear some stuff up: The only person whose age is different in this story is Johanna. Meaning Katniss was fifteen when she won the 73rd Hunger Games. She did not volunteer because Prim would have been too young to be reaped. Katniss' life before the Games is pretty much the same as the books except that she never had any interactions with Peeta.**


	2. Chapter 2

I am already awake when the sun comes up. Being back on this train triggered a lot of nightmares. I throw on some clothes before deciding to go next door to Johanna's compartment and wake her. I figure I should speak to her now since we won't have much time after breakfast. The hallway is dark but there is a dim light coming from underneath her door. I can hear muffled noises as I near her room and when I knock lightly on the door it only takes a few seconds for her to open it. Her face is flushed and she is breathing heavily. She is wearing thin cotton pants and a sleeveless crop top, the muscles in her arms clearly visible now and looking larger than they did last night. A few strands of her wavy hair are stuck to her forehead with sweat, in fact her entire body is glistening with sweat. She must have been in the middle of working out before I knocked. I take a moment to look her over, noting that she has exceptionally well-defined abs. I stare at them for a while, trying to figure out what profession would have made her so fit. My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of her clearing her throat. I look up to find her smirking at me.

"Like what you see?" Her tone is suggestive and she waggles her eyebrows at me.

"Very much," I run my tongue over my lips as I respond in an equally suggestive voice and her eyes widen slightly in surprise. I step past her into the room and look back at her as I continue in a normal voice, "I think you look like you may actually have a chance at winning."

She shuts the door and we both walk over to sit at the edge of the bed. For a second I regret my words because this was the first time I had seen Johanna smile and now her face is serious again. I shake my head to clear my thoughts, we need to be serious right now.

"When we get to the Capitol you'll be taken straight to the Remake Center. It's not going to be a fun time but you have to let the prep team do their job. Jayla, your stylist, is a bit of an idiot. Chances are you'll be in some skimpy coal miner outfit as usual."

"You weren't," Johanna comments. It didn't take long at all for the smirk to come back.

She is right, I was not in a skimpy coal miner outfit. I was stark naked and dusted with black powder that was supposed to resemble coal. Haymitch had warned me beforehand that I should listen to whatever my stylist said, and naked tributes were not unheard of at opening ceremonies, but I was still very shocked to learn that Jayla wanted me get on that chariot without a stitch of clothing on. I grimace at the memory of having all those eyes on me, of knowing that I was completely exposed to everyone in the country. The only good thing to come out of it was that after everyone had an uncensored view of my half-starved body it made the weakling angle Haymitch came up with very convincing.

"No, I wasn't. Jayla is a moron but even she won't do the exact same thing back-to-back years so I think you can expect to be clothed. At least a little." It does cross my mind that Johanna would look much better naked than I did. I'm sure it would only help with sponsors. "Whatever she puts you in there is no point in arguing. Trust me, I tried."

"Noted," Johanna says.

"Did you know Peeta before this?"

"I saw him around, knew who he was. Never really talked to him though."

"Good, having any sort of history with him would only be a distraction. Do you have any skills that might help in the arena?"

"I'm fairly talented with axes and knives. I am a decent shot with a crossbow, though nothing like you and your bow. I can hold my own with spears and tridents. And I can handle a sword if I have to but I'm still a little clumsy." I raise an eyebrow at her, I can't think of any reason for her to have experience with that many weapons. "My father was a blacksmith, he made his own weapons and taught me how to use them."

"That's a dangerous thing to do. If that Capitol found out..." I don't finish the sentence. It occurs to me that maybe the Capitol did find out, maybe that is how Johanna ended up in the home.

"I should shower before breakfast," Johanna stands suddenly from the bed, putting me at eye level with her bare stomach. "Can we continue this later?"

"Of course."

I watch her disappear into the bathroom before getting up off the bed and heading out to the dining area where the avoxes are just finishing setting the table for breakfast. The table is piled high with more breakfast food than the five of us could possibly finish and I feel the anger rise in my stomach like bile. The food we don't finish will be thrown away, meanwhile there are people starving in the poorer districts of Panem. Twelve has been lucky to receive the extra food packages this year due to my victory in the 73rd Hunger Games, but even that did not stop people from starving. The kids from the community home are a perfect example - they probably never saw most of the extra food, the people who run that place are known for giving the kids the bare minimum of what the Capitol sends for them. I once talked to Haymitch about intervening but he pointed out that showing an interest in those children could mean signing their death certificates. I could not imagine a person killing a building full of orphans just to punish me but Snow isn't exactly a person in the strictest sense of the word.

"Good morning, Katniss," Peeta's voice breaks me out of my thoughts. He is standing next to me wearing a dark brown shirt and blue pants, his hair looking ruffled from bed.

"Sleep alright?" I ask him as I take a seat at the table. He sits down next to me and begins to pile his plate with food.

"Yeah. I didn't think I would be able to but after eating all that food I was pretty sleepy. It helps that the beds are so soft."

"It does," I agree with him as I start to put some food on my own plate. For me the softness of the bed does nothing to help but I don't feel the need to talk about my nightmares with Peeta Mellark. "Have you seen Haymitch yet this morning?"

"No I haven't," Peeta answers as he examines the drinks set in front of him. I watch as he takes a sip from the cup of coffee and makes a face at the bitter taste.

"Try this," I hand him the other mug. "It's called hot chocolate."

He slowly brings the mug to his mouth and takes a tentative sip, smiling in an approval at the sweet taste. Haymitch and Effie walk in as he is setting the mug down and join us at the table.

"I went to call Johanna for breakfast but she was in the shower," Effie informs me.

"Thanks Effie, I'm sure she'll be out soon."

"She better be, wouldn't want her to miss breakfast. We'll be at the Capitol soon."

"Speaking of which," Haymitch faces Peeta, "make sure you do everything your stylist says. The important thing for now is your appearance at the opening ceremony. We'll talk strategy afterwards."

Peeta nods and turns his attention back to his food. We have all been eating in silence for a few minutes when Johanna enters the room. Her hair is still wet from the shower, falling a few inches past her shoulders. She sits down across from me at the breakfast table and begins loading her plate with food without saying a word.

"Good morning, Johanna. I trust you slept well."

Johanna looks up at Effie and gives her a slight tilt of her head in response before going back to her food. It is hard to tell whether she her gesture was a shake or a nod and Effie looks at me for help. I shrug my shoulders. I don't have a problem with Johanna's seeming reluctance to use words right now. Earlier this morning I saw a glimpse of personality beyond the silent, serious facade she's been putting on in front of everyone else so I know she has it in her. I just hope she can bring that out when it counts.

* * *

"According to my prep team District Twelve has a new pair of stylists. Some young hotshots that actually asked to be assigned Twelve," Haymitch leans in to whisper this in my ear as the opening music starts to play.

I breathe a sigh of relief at Haymitch's words. Anyone has to be better than the idiots from last year. Maybe District Twelve won't be a total joke this year. I watch disinterestedly as the carriages start emerging, no real surprises in how the other tributes are dressed. However when the District Twelve carriage finally makes its way out I perk up. Johanna and Peeta are both wearing matching black unitards and boots, but that is not what sticks out. Flames are shooting up into the air from the tops of their heads and their fiery capes are leaving a trail behind the carriage. The crowd is going absolutely wild screaming for District Twelve, some of them even shouting Peeta and Johanna's names. I am pleased to see that Johanna is smiling and actually looks friendly as she waves and blows kisses with her free hand. The crowd is eating it up. I find it hard to tear my eyes away from Johanna but I do so long enough to note that Peeta has also turned up his charm. This is probably the first time in Hunger Games history that the District Twelve tributes have stolen the show, literally outshining the other tributes. The crowd continues to cheer for them long after their carriage disappears behind the Training Center.

"Wonderful to see you again Katniss," the words are accompanied by a warm hand on my bare shoulder and I immediately stiffen at the unexpected contact.

"Nice to see you as well, Cashmere." I try to flash her a genuine smile but it falls flat. If Cashmere notices she does not show it, instead grabbing my hand to pull me out of my chair and drag me away from where I am sitting with the rest of the mentors.

"Hope you don't mind me stealing you away for a bit." Cashmere turns her head to shoot me a disarming smile. She has laced our fingers together and seems to be leading us towards the Training Center. I look back at where the Haymitch and the others have been cornered by reporters and various Capitol folk.

"Not at all."

I met Cashmere and a few of the other victors at the Victory Banquet in President Snow's mansion last year. They were all nice to me but the District One beauty was by far the friendliest. Afterwards Haymitch explained to me that the victors are all fairly close, which I had gathered from how they interacted. Many see each other every year for the Hunger Games and apparently some even visit each other in their home districts. I suppose it makes sense for them to be so close, the only people who can really understand what a victor goes through are other victors. I remember being shocked when Cashmere casually brought up the nightmares at the banquet. The other victors jumped in with their suggestions for how to deal with them, which ranged from Beetee from District Three recommending sleep syrup to Finnick Odair from Four grinning mischievously as he mentioned that another warm body in bed always helped him. It was disheartening to realize that the nightmares did not seem to go away with time but I did take comfort in knowing that it was a problem other victors had and learned to cope with. I am snapped out of my thoughts at the sound of the elevator doors opening. We get on and Cashmere uses her free hand to hit the button for Twelve.

"I love your outfit," she releases my hand to finger the silky fabric of my black dress.

Haymitch had warned me that as a mentor I would still be subjected to a stylist so I was prepared for it when we arrived. Luckily as a mentor my outfit is a lot more conservative than the tribute stuff. The dress I am wearing now has a lower cut neck than I'd like and only reaches mid-thigh but it is infinitely better than being naked. Cashmere is wearing a light blue dress that is a lot more revealing than mine, the neckline plunging down to just above her bellybutton. It's much shorter than mine as well, I can't figure out how she managed to sit in a chair during the opening ceremony without giving everyone an eyeful. I tear my eyes away from her hemline and decide to focus on a different aspect of her appearance.

"I like your look too, especially the hair." Her blonde hair, which falls in soft curls down her back, has streaks of blue that match the color of her outfit.

She smiles at my compliment and looks like she is about to respond but the elevator doors open at that moment. I follow her as she steps out of the elevator and makes a beeline for a door in the corner of the sitting area. I noticed the door last year but did not really care to explore where it led - it turns out to be a stairwell. I am about to ask Cashmere how she knew it was there but she starts talking as we climb the stairs.

"All the districts' floors have the same layout and this staircase goes all the way down to the ground floor. I just didn't feel like climbing all that way in heels."

I nod even though I am behind her and she can't see me. We reach the top of the staircase and step through a door, out of the dome containing the stairwell and onto the roof. Cashmere leads me towards a small garden that's been built on the other side of the dome. Windchimes hang from almost every branch of the potted trees and they are all jingling in the late night breeze. It occurs to me that this is probably one of the only places in the building where the Capitol may not be able to overhear a conversation. I almost crash into Cashmere when she suddenly stops walking and turns to face me. We are so close that I can hear her breathing over the windchimes and the only thing I can smell is her perfume, a blend of strawberry and vanilla. Her expression is serious and she speaks in a low voice.

"I heard about what happened after your tour. I am so sorry for not calling or coming to see you."

"No need to explain or apologize Cashmere," I jump in before she can say anything else. "We only met once. You were under no obligation to do either."

"No obligation?" Cashmere shakes her head and gives me a sad smile. "Katniss I wanted to reach out because I cared about how you were doing, not because I feel some sort of obligation. The only reason I didn't is because under the circumstances…"

"It wouldn't have been wise," I finish her thought after she trails off. Now I understand why she wanted to come to the roof. She does not want to be overheard even vaguely implying she knows what actually happened. It is probably in everyone's best interest to distance themselves from me.

"I feel awful about it but it was just too soon. I want you to know that despite what this past year may have felt like you are not alone. We victors support each other and look out for one another like family. Right now those are just empty words but hopefully you'll give me a chance to back those up. Until then just remember that we," she gestures between the two of us. "are on the same team."

Her intense gaze seems to suggest that there is a deeper meaning to her words but I struggle to find it. Obviously we are not on the same team during the Hunger Games, we are each mentoring our own tribute who can only win if all the other tributes die. I shrug it off, it's probably just another way of referring to how the victors are a family. It is nice to hear her say that. She probably has a better grasp on how Snow thinks than I do so if she's talking to me now it must mean she thinks it's safe to do so. I may not know them very well now but considering Snow's vendetta against me, other victors may be the only people I can befriend without fear of consequences.

"Got it. We're playing for the same team," I wink at her, trying to lighten the mood.

Cashmere chuckles at my response and brings one of her hands up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind my ear. I blush at the intimate gesture and it makes her smile even wider, her perfect white teeth on full display. She leans in to give me a quick hug before stepping backwards and grabbing my hand once more.

"You're adorable. Come on," she turns and starts pulling me along with her once more. "I have a feeling you'll like the view from the edge."

* * *

**Just want to reassure everyone that this is Joniss endgame. Beta still needed. **** Reviews appreciated - I try to write regardless but they definitely help motivate me when I'm in a slump.**


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for my long absence. I have not abandoned the story - I have this one planned out and I intend to finish it.

* * *

The first thing I do when I arrive back in my room is kick off the uncomfortable heels I have been wearing all night, flinging them into a corner. I walk over to the giant menu on the wall and order into the mouthpiece, tearing into the lamb and plum stew the second it appears in front of me. By the time Cashmere and I returned from the roof the Avoxes had already been clearing the remains of dinner off the table. The two stylists, Cinna and Portia, had been in the sitting room along with Johanna, Peeta, Effie, and Haymitch. Cashmere had complimented the stylists after Effie introduced them and then headed towards the elevator to go to her own floor. Five pairs of curious eyes had followed her path to the elevator. The sixth pair, Johanna's bright brown eyes, had been trained on me with an expression that I could not quite identify. After Cashmere left, the discussion had turned to Cinna and Portia's strategy for Peeta and Johanna to get sponsors. I wanted to speak with Johanna before going to bed but when the meeting broke up she was pulled into a conversation about fashion with Cinna. He took her up to the roof to show her the garden - something about one of his recent designs being inspired by the flowers up there. Haymitch took that opportunity to pull me aside and give me a lecture about my disappearance. All in all it has been an exhausting night and since Johanna and Cinna were still on the roof when I escaped to my room, I resolved to talk to Johanna tomorrow morning instead.

I make quick work of the stew before stripping out of the rest of my clothes and falling into bed, sighing at the feeling of the soft silk sheets against my bare skin. I keep replaying Cinna's words in my mind, trying to sort out my feelings about the plan he mapped out for Peeta and Johanna. After our conversation I feel confident that Cinna and Portia know what they are doing but that doesn't mean that their strategy is without risk. I let out a dark chuckle, disturbing the stillness of my room, as I recognize the absurdity of that thought. Everything about the Hunger Games is dripping in danger - there is no element of this situation that is without risk. My main reservation with their plan is that I don't want to put Johanna in a situation where she will get too attached to Peeta. It is an unspoken rule of the Hunger Games that no one actively targets the other tribute from their district, especially in the beginning when there are plenty of other tributes to go after. On the other hand, it is generally understood that if the opportunity to kill anyone - even the tribute from one's own district - presents itself, it is stupid not to take it. I don't want Johanna to die if she is put in that situation and hesitates for even a second due to any sort of relationship she builds with Peeta outside the arena. Still, Cinna's plan has certainly never been done and I can understand his point about it making both of them seem more desirable. Not that Johanna needs any help with that.

I think back to how she looked sitting in armchair earlier tonight. I hadn't noticed while she was wearing the flaming headdress that Cinna had changed her hair. It is a darker shade of brown with bright red highlights running through it and has been cut so that in its natural wavy state it reaches just past her chin, leaving much of her neck exposed. At one point while Portia was talking I was just staring at Johanna, marveling at how the pale skin of her neck contrasted with the dark green collar of the shirt she was wearing. I force myself to clear the image from my mind, following this train of thought can only lead to trouble. As I drift off to sleep I try to distract myself by picturing Cashmere and her plunging neckline instead.

I wake to the sound of light knocking at my door and I tiredly roll out of bed, grabbing an oversized brown tunic to throw on before making my way to the door. I fling it open to reveal Johanna and wordlessly step aside for her to enter as I rub the sleep out of my eyes.

"I thought we should talk," Johanna says. I close the door and turn to find her already sitting at the edge of my bed. "Sorry if I woke you, I thought you'd be up."

"No problem," I say, glancing at the window and noting that the sun is starting to rise. I really should have been awake already but I was having an especially nice dream. "What did you want to talk about?"

I lean back against the door, deciding to keep my distance as the details of my nice dream come trickling back and I remember that Johanna had a starring role. Right now she is wearing a pair of black form-fitting tights and a sleeveless red tunic that shows off her well-toned arms. My heart rate increases at the memory of dream Johanna's arm muscles straining as she reached down between our bodies and -

"Katniss?" Johanna is staring at me with an amused smile on her face, clearly aware of the direction my thoughts had been going. She spares me further embarrassment by repeating herself without me having to ask. "I wanted to know what you thought about the whole thing with Peeta."

"Right, Peeta," I grasp onto the topic eagerly, anything to distract myself from the thought of Johanna's strong arms and slender fingers. "I did have my reservations but the more I think about it, the plan is about as solid as any other. What do you think?"

"Does it matter what I think?" The soft reply catches me off guard. Her tone is bitter with just a hint of resignation thrown in. For a split second she looks every bit the innocent and vulnerable teenager she could have been in another life, a life without the Hunger Games. Before I can reply she quickly continues, "I mean, this plan is about getting sponsors and that is your area. I'm fine following your lead."

"Great." I am curious about her reaction but she has recovered and I remind myself that the Hunger Games are very much a part of both our lives and there is no time for her to be a vulnerable teenager. "At training today keep a low profile. Stick with Peeta as much as you can and be careful not to reveal any of your skills. No one will expect you to have training and we want to keep the element of surprise."

"So I should stay away from the weapons?"

"Not exactly. They may not expect you to have any experience with weapons but anyone who looks at you can tell you've got some muscle. They'll be more wary if it seems like you're just trying to repeat what I did. I think you should train with the swords since you said you were clumsy with those. Don't try to put on an act, just get some practice."

Johanna nods as she takes in my advice. When it becomes clear I have nothing else to say she walks over to the window and stares out in silence. The city is still - the sun is just starting to peak out over the tall buildings and people in the Capitol have the luxury of being able to sleep in.

"I've never seen hair like yours in Twelve," the words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop myself and Johanna stiffens before turning to face me where I am still lingering by the door.

"No, I doubt you would have." She looks into my eyes as if she is searching for something. I am not sure if she finds it but after a minute she sighs and turns back to the window. "A Peacekeeper raped my mother two days after she married my father. He was transferred shortly after that so I never had a chance to meet the guy, but I've been told I look just like him."

Her voice doesn't betray any emotion, she might as well have been telling me the weather. There doesn't seem to be a good way to respond to that. I don't bother trying. Instead I join her by the window, our shoulders lightly brushing as we watch the sun rising slowly over the Capitol until Effie knocks to announce breakfast.

* * *

I storm straight past the elevator doors and head for the door I know will lead me to the stairwell. Cashmere is wearing heels and I'm hoping she won't be willing or able to chase me up the stairs. She catches up to me before I can shut the door behind me, her hand landing on my shoulder to stop me before I make it up the first step. I jerk away from her touch and make it to the second step before she grabs my wrist to tug me back down. The action is unexpected and I lose my balance as I stumble down the two steps and fall into her. She steadies me with a hand at my hip and when our eyes meet it snaps the last bit of control I have. I rip my wrist out of her grip and shove her against the wall, my forearm at her throat.

"Why can't you take a fucking hint and leave me the hell alone?!"

Her clear blue eyes, which were filled with sympathy and concern just seconds ago, harden with anger. Before I have a chance to process what is happening Cashmere has the arm that was at her throat twisted around my back as she slams me into the wall. My face is turned towards the door and I can feel her entire body pressed up against my back, tensed in the effort of keeping me subdued. I struggle for a few seconds but the sensation of her body against mine has already started to quiet my anger and as she presses in even closer to keep me from escaping I have to bite back a moan. I am surprised by how quickly the white hot rage is being overpowered by red hot lust. A shiver runs through me as I take in Cashmere's sweet smell and relax into her hold.

"Do you think you can manage to behave if I let you go?"

Her voice is husky and her breathing uneven but she does not let up on her grip. I struggle to get my heartbeat under control while she waits for me to answer. My brain is hazy with lust in a way that I have never experienced before now. I realized a few years back that I am attracted to women but before last year I was always too busy trying to keep my family from starving to ever do anything about it and I never really cared to do anything about it after I won the games. Now that I know first-hand how good another female body feels pressed against me, I find myself questioning my celibate existence.

"Katniss?"

"I'll behave," I whisper. Cashmere releases my hand and backs away slowly, allowing me to turn and face her. My body feels unpleasantly cold and the loss of contact makes me regret not putting up more of a fight. My arm is sore and my cheek stings from where it slammed into the wall but I would happily have stayed in that position for much longer just to feel Cashmere's warmth pushing into me. Before I can say anything Cashmere is heading up the stairs, dragging me along with one hand and carrying both her heels in the other. I use the time to calm myself down, hoping she didn't notice the way my body reacted to her touch. She doesn't slow down until we are on the rooftop, releasing my wrist and turning to face me once we reach the same spot she took me to last night. It is not as windy but there is still a light breeze and I find the soft melody of the chimes grounding. Cashmere raises an eyebrow at me and I realize she is waiting for me to explain myself. I think back to the scene.

_Cashmere had dragged me out to explore the Capitol with her the second Haymitch stepped away from me in the Mentor Lounge at the Training Center. On the way back we stepped into a shop so Cashmere could take a closer look at a dress she had seen in the window. I didn't really understand the point considering the variety of free clothing we had access to at the Training Center but when I asked she gasped and started lecturing me about designers. I decided it was best just to silently follow her lead. When we finally emerged from the store a small group of reporters had gathered outside. Cashmere gamely fielded questions about her tribute while I tried to do the same. I had been annoyed but I just kept reminding myself that the best way I could help Johanna was by playing the game, no matter how much I hated it. Everything had been going fine until a tall lanky man in a bright orange suit stepped up and started asking questions about my victory last year. I deflected as best I could, trying to make it clear that I was not willing to speak about it. He didn't get the hint. I had already turned to walk away when he asked me to comment on how it felt to have made Hunger Games history by killing a record 11 tributes in two days. The number echoed in my head as my mind conjured up the images of every single person I killed. I stumbled and felt Cashmere's hand on my arm, steadying me. I could feel the warmth of her hand through my shirt sleeve and I was overwhelmed by a blind rage as I turned to face the reporter, who continued to badger me for a statement. I snarled something about him getting the chance to be lucky number twelve and lunged for him. Cashmere was able to hold me back and drag me around a corner before I could do any damage._

"He made me angry," I shrug.

"No shit, Hothead," she manages a wry grin. "We can get away with a lot as victors but I'm pretty sure murdering a reporter in broad daylight would be frowned upon."

"Sorry," I spit back. "I forgot that Capitol folk only like to watch murders on screen...and only when it's children."

"Hey," she moves in closer, her voice even lower than before. "The chimes only work if you're not screaming."

"I'm sorry," I reply, my voice breaking. At this point I am not sure if I am apologizing for shouting just now, for my behavior earlier with the reporter and in the stairwell, or for killing all those children. "I'm sorry...so, so sorry."

The next thing I know we are both on the floor and I am practically sitting in Cashmere's lap, continuously apologizing through my tears. Cashmere wraps one arm around my waist and gently strokes my back as I sob into her neck. I am incredibly grateful that she does not try to say anything; she understands that it is not her place to accept my apologies or dismiss my guilt. She understands perhaps in a way that only another victor ever could. I calm down as I realize that right now in Cashmere's embrace, for the first time since the death of my family, I don't feel quite so alone.

* * *

A bit shorter than I originally intended, but I just wanted to get something out. As always, reviews are appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

The sun has set by the time I feel calm enough to open my eyes, though I don't move from my position nestled up against Cashmere's chest. Now that the guilt, anger, and sadness from earlier has dissipated, the lust that briefly clouded my mind in the stairwell is making a return. I am hyper-aware of every part of my body that is coming into contact with Cashmere. When I start to pull away from her, she grips my arm to keep me from moving too far away. Her other hand comes up to my face, and I hold my breath as she gently wipes away my tears. Her grip on my arm loosens and her hand begins to fall away from my face.

Suddenly I can't stand the thought of losing contact and I surge forward, joining our lips. It is a brief kiss, if you can even call it that. A few second after my lips make contact with Cashmere's, she reflexively pushes me away with the hand she still has on my arm. By the look in her eyes, I can tell the only reason it even lasted a few seconds is because she was completely startled by actions. Before I can apologize and run away, her startled gaze disappears and is replaced by something more purposeful. Her hand shoots up to cup the back of my neck and pull me towards her once more. This time there is absolutely no doubt that it is in fact a kiss.

* * *

Cashmere decides to take the stairs all the way down to her floor, so this time I step out of the stairwell alone. Haymitch, Effie, Johanna, and Peeta all sitting down to dinner and they all look up at me as I enter and join them at the dinner table. Effie looks at me strangely from across the table and then looks away, shaking her head in disapproval. Johanna, who is sitting next to me, reaches over and plucks an errant leaf out of my hair without saying a word. Peeta is looking studiously at his plate and blushing, while Haymitch just shrugs at me and keeps eating. I expected him to be a bit more upset that I went missing again but I suppose since I'm back for dinner it isn't as bad.

I start eating while Peeta and Johanna begin debriefing us on how training went. As Peeta needlessly informs us about the formation of a career pack, I let my eyes wander over Johanna's body. She took a shower before sitting down with us and the outfit she changed into is not as enticing as what she was wearing this morning. Her toned arms are covered by a baggy shirt and her trousers don't show off her alluring legs either. I find it troubling that my body still reacts to her appearance despite the unflattering clothing. I decide to dismiss it as a side-effect of having just spent the last hour making out with Cashmere on the roof.

"We both practiced with traps and snares. We tried out a few of the weapons stations. Johanna practiced with the swords...she was pretty good. If I didn't know better I'd say she's used one before."

I do my best to keep my face expressionless as Haymitch and I both glance at Johanna, who has had a bored look on her face throughout Peeta's rambling. Haymitch looks somewhat impressed. It feels weird to be keeping things from Haymitch but there is really no way around that. We both agreed not to talk about our tributes any more than necessary to discuss the shared strategy.

"Anyone with a working hand can use a sword," Johanna drawls. "It's not exactly rocket science, figuring out which is the sharp end and swinging it around."

Peeta looks like he's about to say more but then thinks better of it. At least he has a little sense. He can discuss with Haymitch later how good he thinks Johanna is with a sword, talking about it with everyone was a stupid move. At the end of the day, only one of them can live - that doesn't leave much room for open conversation around the dinner table.

"Tell us about the other tributes," I say.

Peeta, clearly grateful for the slight subject change, immediately begins to regale us with his observations of the other tributes. Johanna stays silent for the most part, nodding or adding in a couple words when we look at her for her opinion. After dinner, I suggest to Johanna that we head up to the roof to talk. She follows me without a word and we take a seat on one of the benches in the garden. I pause to gather my thoughts but, to my surprise, Johanna ends up speaking first.

"Peeta's strong. He's trying not to show the full extent at the training sessions, but I've seen him lift hundred pound bags of flour."

I nod. I can tell she's got more to say and I don't want to cut that off by speaking too soon.

"He's a nice guy," she says.

I look over at her, warning bells going off in my head. I want to shake her shoulders and tell her to snap out of it, that she can't think of him as anything other than another tribute that has to die if she wants to live. Her voice was expressionless though, so I'm not sure how much weight to put on those four words.

"He is," I decide to respond noncommittally, seeing where she takes it.

"I can feel you restraining yourself," Johanna grins wryly. "I didn't say I wouldn't kill him. I'm just pointing out that he's nice. People pick up on that. Even Capitol folk. He'll get sponsors and do better than he thinks he will."

"Maybe," I agree, my shoulders relaxing. "But nice can only get him so far. Anyway, personality is overrated. Looks are just as important for sponsors, and at least you've got him and the other tributes beat there hands down. Personality can be faked, it's harder to do that with looks."

"Really?" She looks at me incredulously. "I can't tell whether to be flattered at your comment about my looks or offended because you clearly think that my personality leaves something to be desired."

I feel myself blush at the realization that I pretty much just admitted to finding Johanna attractive, which is ridiculous because it's not like it was a huge secret to begin with. The way she carries herself, it's easy to see that Johanna knows she is attractive and enjoys the effect she has on people. Thankfully she continues to stare off into the distance rather than look at me as we talk. Part of me thinks her refusal to make eye contact is because she is afraid I agree about her lack of personality.

"From what I've seen so far, I enjoy your personality," I say, because I decide she needs the truth right now. "The problem is that I haven't seen a lot of it, and I think that everyone else has seen even less."

"Can you really blame me for not being a ray of sunshine at the moment?"

She turns to look at me and her face betrays the exasperation she is feeling. I feel the familiar anger rise up inside me. As if the idea of having children kill each other in an arena isn't bad enough, the tributes also have to worry about being attractive and having sparkling personalities leading up to the bloodbath. I use the anger I'm feeling toward the Capitol to deliver my reply in a stern voice.

"This is hardly the time to be throwing yourself a pity party Johanna."

A flicker of hurt crosses Johanna's face before she slips on the expressionless mask she wears in front of everyone else and then looks away. I immediately regret my harsh words. She's followed instructions perfectly with regards to her limited public appearances. It doesn't really make sense for me to chastise her for being open about her frustration during a private conversation with me.

"Right, I'll work on the personality bit for the cameras."

Her tone is all business and the fact that she doesn't push back makes me feel even more embarrassed and guilty about my childish reaction. It is a bit of a reality check for me - I have been treating Johanna like an inexperienced child but I am a year younger than her and just as inexperienced when it comes to mentoring a tribute. There was no reason for me to take my anger with the Capitol out on her, and if anything it seems like it damaged the relationship we were building. If she can't turn to her mentor, who does she have left?

"No, I'm sorry." I place a hand on her knee and she stiffens but does not move away. "That was unfair of me."

"Fairness doesn't play into this," Johanna sighs, looking back at me with the mask still in place. "You are right, I was feeling sorry for myself and there is no time for that."

"I was wrong to say that," I give her leg a squeeze before removing my hand and repositioning myself so I am straddling the bench to face her. "Pretending you aren't upset by what is going on isn't going to make it go away. It's just the two of us up here - you should feel open to talk about what you are feeling."

Johanna adjusted to mirror my position, straddling the bench and facing me. "I volunteered for this. I knew exactly what I was getting into. We should use this time to discuss strategy, not my feelings."

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the long absence. I have this planned out and still plan on finishing the story, it may just be slow going (but hopefully nothing as bad as the break I've had between the last chapter and this one).**


	5. Chapter 5

I struggle to catch my breath as I lay on my back on the ground in the middle of the rooftop garden. My trousers are at my ankles and Cashmere's tongue is still lazily circling my clit as I recover from her latest assault. I reach down to grab the back of her head and tug her up towards me. As incredibly good as it feels to have her skilled mouth on me, I'm pretty sure another orgasm would kill me. She lets me guide her away and gives me a sweet smile before leaning down to capture my lips. The last couple hours have been exactly what I needed.

These stolen moments with Cashmere are what have kept me grounded for the past couple days. Johanna has been distant since I snapped at her and the situation has been making me more upset than it should. Cashmere has been providing me a much needed, and particularly effective, distraction. I can feel her hand trailing down my stomach and threatening to drive all coherent thought out of my head once more.

"Seriously, I can't."

"I didn't take you for a quitter," she smirks, but her hand stops its downward journey. For a minute neither of us speaks and I work on steadying my breathing before I reply.

"I'm not," I roll on top of her, "I just think it's time to switch positions."

* * *

No one reacts when I show up midway through dinner in a disheveled state that makes the reason for my tardiness obvious. Well, no one but Haymitch, who manages to throw a disappointed look in my direction while shoveling potatoes into his mouth. He expressed some concern last night about my commitment to my mentoring duties. I responded that his concern for my duties was antithetical to his own duties, so perhaps he was being a bit hypocritical in chastising me. It was a low blow given my request for his help this summer, but despite what he thinks I have not been ignoring my responsibilities as Johanna's mentor and I resented the accusation.

I spent hours today talking up Johanna at a lunch thrown for wealthy sponsors and some of the more "reputable" reporters. I was right to think that her good looks would serve to ingratiate herself with sponsors - many were open about their hopes that their generosity would earn them the first "private audience" with Johanna after her victory. It seems there are more than a few sponsors who plan on giving generously to a handful of the more attractive tributes in hopes that one of their contributions will pan out. I wonder if that is what the orange haired pervert from last year did. The lack of fear any of the sponsors displayed at broaching the subject with me made it clear that Snow had been quite successful in covering up the incident. I wish he hadn't been, because it took all my self-restraint not to react to the crude suggestions made by the sponsors. I may not have made it without a violent outburst if Cashmere hadn't stepped in every now and then to give me a chance to calm down.

"I'll probably get a four. I almost dropped a weight on my foot. It was bad."

I roll my eyes at Peeta's chattering, thankful once more that my tribute is Johanna. Based on our discussion last night, I'm fairly certain she will have secured herself a respectable six or seven during her evaluation. Even though she obviously has some muscle on her, it's not enough to overcome being from 12 and expected not to have any impressive skills. A seven would be enough to keep sponsors interested without painting a target on her back. Any more of a target. The more important reason to be thankful at the moment is that she isn't prone to prattling on uselessly like Peeta.

"Johanna, how was your session?"

"Fine," she doesn't even look at Effie while delivering the one word answer.

For a second Effie looks like she may ask a follow-up question, but she ends up deciding to turn back to Peeta. He is much friendlier and more likely to provide full sentences in response to her questions. Johanna catches my eye and winks at me, causing a grin to spread across my face. She looks away quickly but her gesture lets me know she is confident that her evaluation went as planned. There is no way to be sure she succeeded until the scores come out, but for some reason I have no doubt that her confidence is warranted. After dinner we sit and watch the scores given to the tributes. Peeta manages an eight despite what he was whining about earlier and, unsurprisingly, Johanna earns a seven.

She follows me into my bedroom afterwards to talk about the other tributes and the scores they received. The only one that surprised either of us is a tiny slip of a girl from eleven who manages to pull a seven as well. The rest were well within the range of what we expected based on the first couple days of training.

"How are things developing on the sponsor front?" Johanna asks once we have wound up our discussion about the scores. I try not to let my surprise show. When I was a tribute, I had no idea that the hunt for sponsors began before the Games did. It would probably have distracted me, and I had not talked about it with Johanna for the same reason. Maybe Cinna had discussed it with her.

"As well as can be expected this early on," I walk away from the window and join her at the foot of my bed. Our arms brush as I take a seat but the contact is fleeting, she puts some distance between us when shifts to face me. I suppress a sigh - she has been careful to limit physical contact ever since my harsh comment on the roof, but it has done nothing to lessen the palpable tension between us. "It helps that I was the victor last year, and you look like a much more promising tribute than I ever did. I'm hoping the interviews will suffice to hook a few of the more hesitant sponsors."

"I hope so too. Sponsors are going to be much more important this year."

"What makes you think that?"

"Last year it was over so quickly the sponsors didn't even have time to open their wallets," she muses. It's an exaggeration, but she is right that the eighteen hours the game lasted was not enough for the sponsors to make much of an impact. "The gamemakers will be looking to compensate for that this year - so we can expect an arena that will be built with an eye towards stretching this out. The longer it lasts, the higher the chances are that something sent by the sponsors will come in handy."

It seems obvious when she lays it out like that. At this point I'm almost used to how she seems to have thought out aspects of the Games that I haven't really considered. I've noticed over the past few days that in some ways she seems as prepared as a career. My guess is that her father taught her to fight so that she could protect herself if she happened to end up as a tribute. It seems like a lot of risk for something with such a remote possibility, but Johanna having prepared with the intention of volunteering makes even less sense.

And, besides for the Hunger Games, what other reason would the blacksmith have had to teach his daughter to fight? As I ask the question to myself, I remember hunting with Gale and listening to his angry rants against the Capital. I shake away those thoughts. Even Gale was not stupid enough to do anything other than talk, and even that was only in the safety of the forest. Johanna tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and I realize I have spent too long staring at her without responding.

"I wish I could say that you can count on me," I sigh. "I will do everything in my power to get you sponsors, but at the end of the day my efforts might not be enough. Once you're in the arena, -"

"I can't count on anyone but myself," Johanna finishes the thought for me. "Don't worry, I won't."

Her statement is exactly what I was trying to get across, but for some reason it still hurts to hear her say she won't be counting on me. I have an inexplicably strong desire to hear her say that she needs me and that she can't do this without me, even though we both know that in the end she will have to. The realization unnerves me. I can cope with wanting Johanna's body because physical attraction can be ignored without really affecting my behavior. Wanting anything other than physical pleasure from Johanna is foolish and has the potential to cause me to do something stupid. Despite all her skill, it is still more likely than not that Johanna will die, and I would rather not end up like my mother did after my father passed. It's a tough line to walk - doing everything in my power to ensure Johanna's survival without losing sight of the high probability that she will be killed despite my best efforts.


End file.
